He Who Burns
by redisthenewblackington
Summary: An amalgam of Lizzington alternate beginnings and endings to both The Stewmaker and Gina Zanetakos. Liz and Tom actually go on the mini vacation that Tom booked at the end of The Stewmaker, but it's shown from the POV of Red and his tails as they aggressively pursue the goal of outing Tom.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This fic is a secret santa gift for Morgan. She wanted a story with an alternate ending for The Stewmaker. As such, you won't find much of a new story for the first part, but I've reframed it to fit the direction the fic will be taking in an upcoming chapter. Merry Christmas, Morgan!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

-...-...-...

After quickly peeking through the cabin's dusty window, Red was relieved beyond measure to see his Lizzie alive and breathing, slumped over in a wheelchair. He slipped through the door unseen by Stanley, but she saw him, and had the presence of mind to address her would-be killer, distracting him as Red approached.

"You know, I was wrong about you..." She gazed upwards with surprisingly-clear eyes, knowing that he was hanging onto her every word. Lizzie had given him quite a scare, but Stanley the stewmaker was confident that he was well on his way to becoming a successful murderer. He was evolving, as all things do. "You're not perfect."

Faster than a desperate gasp for breath, Red launched a furious fist at the stewmaker's jaw with a sickening crack, and he dropped to the floor like a broken marionette. Sneering, Red stood over his target for a moment, working his jaw as if he had taken the blow himself.

With a shrug, Red tossed a raw steak to Stanley's dog, who strangely wasn't nonplussed by either his presence or his fallen master. The dog grunted with delight, securing the meat between his front paws as he gnawed away. Red made a mental note to check up on the dog later. If Stanley's wife didn't want to keep him, he'd have no trouble finding someone who would.

Dogs do, after all, make some lives whole.

Liz rolled her eyes at the scene, remembering how only minutes ago, Stanley had ushered his dog aside, so the pup wouldn't be traumatized by witnessing her grusome death. _Ladies and gentlemen_, she thought to herself, _ meet Stanley Kornish: Dentist, Caring Father, Dog Lover, Mémoire Morte Enthusiast, Corporeal Disposal Service, Budding Serial Killer... but most impressively, Expert Compartmentalist_.

Red approached Lizzie and kneeled in front of her, disengaging the wheelchair's brakes. He then gently lifted her dangling feet to put them on the footrests. She could have done it herself, but she didn't protest. He tilted his head and flashed a crooked, happy smile. "Hello Lizzie. The effects will dissipate soon. You're gonna be fine."

She briefly wondered how he already knew what Stanley had given her, but still, she didn't doubt that he was right. Even when asked, Red seldom explained such things. He wheeled her around to face the door, and briefly put his hand on her head. Her eyes slipped closed at the warm contact.

Liz listened to the sound of Red rumaging around in a drawer, followed by a faint gasp._ What the hell is he doing now?_ More rustling sounds behind her, accompanied by labored breathing, and she realized that Red was dragging Stanley's limp form and propping him up somewhere, out of the way. He took a few steps backwards and lifted his chin.

"Okay. Should we get started?"

_Get started on what?_ Liz listened quietly while Red launched into a short story that she presumed was supposed to be about Stanley.

"A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone. Crops are burned, animals slaughtered, bodies and broken pieces of his life strewn about. Everything that he loved taken from him - his children. One can only imagine the pit of despair, the hours of Job-like lamentations, the burden of existence. He makes a promise to himself in those dark hours. A life's work erupts from his knotted mind. Years go by. His suffering becomes complicated. One day he stops - the farmer who is no longer a farmer - sees the wreckage he's left in his wake. It is now he who burns, he who slaughters, and he knows in his heart he must pay."

By the time he finished the tale, her cheeks were tear-stained. She actually felt sorry for her would-be killer. For such an awful, cruel bastard, Red was a rather unassuming troubador. She sniffled and brushed a tear from her eye, thankful that Red couldn't see it from where she was sitting.

He wrapped up the story with a question. "Doesn't he, Stanley?"

Oh. So yes, she had been right. _It really was about Stanley._ Liz took a deep breath and found her voice, taking a feeble stand for the man, scratchy and weak. "No, Red. He couldn't help it."

Still outside of her line of sight, Red swallowed and nodded, pretending to consider her words while her mistaken assumption sank in. He should have seen that coming. "Maybe you're right... Maybe he can change. Maybe he's not damaged beyond repair. Maybe he could make amends to all those he's hurt so terribly... Or maybe not."

Without further ceremony, he gave Stanley a push, and the drugged man flipped backwards into the tub with a ghoulish splash. Liz recoiled in horror, panting over the bubbling sound of the stewmaker's final disposal- himself.

That very moment, the front door opened, and Red put his hands behind his head, expecting to be frisked.

"Where's Kornish?" Ressler abruptly asked.

Red narrowed his eyes at Captain America's first priority._ Oh, nevermind Agent Keen. She's just sitting in that wheelchair because it's so comfortable_. He kept the thoughts to himself, and instead replied congenially, "We've had a little incident. Agent Keen needs medical attention."

Ressler huffed but took the hint and leaned over Liz, grabbing her chin and looking into her eyes.

Malick addressed Red suspiciously, "How'd you get here?"

"That's a pretty blouse," he replied in his habitual manner of dismissive redirection. Lucky for him, Malick was wise enough to appreciate the fact that he'd single-handedly saved his Lizzie's life, so she didn't press him. If not for him, she'd be the corpse dissolving in the tub.

Apparently agreeing with Red's assessment, Ressler piped up, "Get a medic in here now." Then he addressed Liz more calmly, "It's all over now. It's okay."

Satisfied that Lizzie would have the help she needed, Red turned towards a bookshelf that held Stanley's trophies. He had at least one hundred tiny glass jars, each containing a single tooth and a label on the bottom. His brow furrowed in both distaste and disgust. Red himself had probably killed at least as many people, but he hated having to do it. Never in a million years would he want to keep a souvenir.

His eyes scanned over the shelf, searching for the one thing that he needed: the photo album. He flipped through it, sighing at the sight of the bodies, page after page of innocent lives prematurely stolen. He closed his eyes for a couple seconds when he found Her picture, and after glancing up to make sure that no one was watching, he slid the photo from its cellophane sleeve, and slipped it into his coat pocket.

Looking up, he spied Ressler leading Lizzie outside by her elbow. She shouldn't be walking! Red followed them closely enough to catch her if she fell. Sure enough, shortly after stepping onto the uneven gravel driveway, she stumbled and collapsed sideways, reflexively throwing her arms around Ressler for support. He pulled her upright and untangled himself from her arms, a pinched mixture of shock and annoyance playing over his face.

No. Fuck this, Red thought. He dropped the photo album and cut in between Liz and Ressler, bending sideways to lift her up wedding-style, with one arm looped under her knees, and the other supporting her back. She looked up at him with a scowl, shaking her head in a manner of defiance that probably would have been endearing under different circumstances. He carried her to the ambulance and set her down gently on the ledge of its open back door, turning back to retrieve the photo album.

Red returned to find Lizzie rearranging the scratchy grey shock blanket over her shoulders. With a nod, he offered the album. "Here. It's horrifying, but at least you can give peace of mind to some of the families."

She took the book with a scowl, and then turned to climb inside of the ambulance, collapsing on its black vinyl bench. Always a shameless gutter dweller, Red gave in to the urge to check out her butt as she climbed in. What was he supposed to do? It was right at his eye level, and so close, he could have reached out to grab it. Oh, he wanted to, but he wasn't entirely without self-control.

As if she could read his mind, Liz snarled, "You're no better than him."

He narrowed his eyes and redirected his thoughts, although his words came out sounding as if he had not. "You gonna tell on me Lizzie? Tell Harold how bad I've been?"

Either she didn't notice, or she pretended not to. "You're a monster."

"Yes," Red replied, understanding that he himself must pay.

She looked up at him incredulously, and her eyes were so blue that he nearly felt lost inside of her gaze. "How can you live with that?"

"By saving your life."

She rolled her eyes, not really understanding- not that Red expected her to. "You didn't have to kill him."

Okay, fine. He could understand why she would be angry with him for showing up in her life in the first place. That was expected, but this!? "You're awfully sympathetic of the man who nearly killed you, and curiously ungrateful towards the man that saved your life."

"You're the only reason I was kidnapped in the first place." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Was I? You mean that I'm responsible for you being taken after you tried to prevent Lorca from fleeing, after tipping you off that something bad was going to happen with a case that you took on years before you even met me? You think that you were kidnapped because you'd just found out about the stewmaker? It would be wise for you to consider that if you hadn't found out about him first, no one would have even known where to look for you. It could have been decades before this album was found, with your picture in it. He's gotten away with it for a long time, Lizzie."

"You still didn't have to kill him," she spat, not acknowledging that he'd just told her the truth.

"No, I didn't. That was a self-gratifying act of vengeance, but sadly, if it makes you feel any better, I didn't actually enjoy it. Think about how much time elapsed between my arrival and the feds'. After you were taken, if I had played by the FBI's rules, you'd be dead. And Mr. Cornish? He'd find himself on death row anyway. One could argue that immediate death was more humane."

"You don't know that," she weakly argued, tugging at the corners of her blanket.

"The world is seldom black and white enough to settle things perfectly within the law. I promise that if you can't see it now, someday you will. Oh... That day will come much sooner than you think."

Ressler approached from behind and tapped Red's shoulder. "We need to discuss Lorca."

He gave Liz a dismissive nod and followed the agent into the woods.

-...-...-

Back at home, Liz sat on the edge of her porcelain clawfoot bathtub, reflecting on all manner of things. With such a busy work week, she hadn't gotten much of a chance to ponder the heavily-redacted file about the match to the gun that she had found under the floorboards. There must be some other way to acquire the information, but she would need time to figure it out. In the meantime, she had to maintain her normal affect towards Tom. Ugh, Liz hated it already. She hated herself for not implicitly trusting him. Innocent until proven guilty, right? If she could give that to any random "unsub", it shouldn't be so hard to do it for her own husband.

Ever since she found the box, her mind had been filled with nothing but doubt. She viewed every single one of Tom's actions from behind a veil of suspicion, always questioning his true motives. Liz tried to tell herself that she was really looking for proof of Tom's innocence, and nothing more.

At every corner of her search, Tom always seemed to pop in with something to disprove her suspicion du jour. Recently, while she was using her laptop, he caught sight of the date she had written down, the date on the dedacted file. Her body strung as tight as a bowstring, terrified that Tom would recognize it and make the connection that she was onto him. There it was, implicit fear again, rather than trust.

Tom just squeezed her shoulder, offering only support, totally oblivious to her fear. The number was only a date, but not just any date. It was when they went to Boston. He opened the file with photographs of the happy couple on vacation. If Tom was with her that day, then he couldn't have been involved with the mysterious Angel Station incident. Tom was innocent! He assumed that Liz, of course, needed the reminder about the good things in life. With all of the horror she had seen at work, he couldn't blame her.

Liz masked her relief by playing along with the next little line he dropped, about knowing all of her tells. She's an open book, he said, and he loved that about her. Nervous and on edge, his monumental misunderstanding of her mental state drove a fresh but completely different spike of fear into her heart. Clearly, Tom didn't know her as well as he thought. The possibility of that being a two-way street didn't seem like a giant leap. How well does she know him? How well does she know anyone?

Tom's sudden appearance in the bathroom startled her from her musing.

"I know that things have been a little weird between us lately. I think what we were talking about earlier, getting out of town for a few days, I think we could really use it."

Liz looked up at him curiously as he held up a brochure. "So, I booked it," he added.

Tom walked over and sat down beside her. "It's just three nights, back at that place we loved, The Dickenson Inn, and we can eat at that restaurant you liked. It's gonna be fun."

Liz grinned and lifted her head, turning to kiss him.

"You're gonna get through this, I promise," he whispered.

Liz redirected her focus to the brochure while Tom busied himself kissing her neck. There it was, just a tiny little photo- The Angel Station Hotel. She sucked in a deep breath and bit her tongue, working her way through a fresh stabbing of fear.

In that moment, Liz made a silent vow to herself. She'd use the trip as an opportunity to investigate whatever happened in Boston. The reassurance calmed her somewhat. She'd either clear the man or condemn him, but either outcome would grant a form of relief. She wouldn't be burdened by suspicion for much longer.

Much like the families of the stewmaker's victims, she'd soon know the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: This is the second of a three-chapter fic for Morgan, and it deviates much further from canon than the first. What would happen if Red stood up for himself at the end of the stewmaker? What if Tom and Liz actually took that trip to Boston, and Red didn't back off after the incident with Gina Zanetakos? Between this chapter and the next, you'll find numerous verbatim quotes from the show, all given a new context.

With that in mind, allow me to be extra clear with the obligatory disclaimer. I own nothing at all, and my only profit is the pleasure of my entertainment and yours. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Morgan!

**Chapter Two**

Red could always lead Liz to the truth, but still, he couldn't make her believe it.

Never was that so apparent as the evening in which Gina Zanetakos, handcuffed to a hospital bed, first claimed to have never met Tom, and then pointed a finger at Red for taking out the hit on Fokin. It's too bad, Red thought, that Ressler didn't kill her. The dead can't actively cover their tracks or displace the appropriation of blame.

Gina's explanation begged several questions though. Had they always planned on blaming Red for hiring her, if she got caught? If not, then how did they communicate to form the plan? Did someone higher up hand down the orders? Since Gina effectively took the fall for Tom, does he have some sort of exit strategy in place for her? On a similar note, why were Lizzie's employers so quick to believe Gina's version of the events? Red couldn't help wondering if she had someone working for her on the inside as well.

That night, after Liz stormed off in a rage, Red went to work on making the most of their upcoming trip to Boston. After the FBI had cleared him, Tom was obviously banking on the idea that an innocent man wouldn't cancel their trip. Liz herself had all but entirely abandoned her original objective, and watching her cling to her guilt over hurting Tom's feelings was beyond nauseating.

Red dialed an old friend, coincidentally a Boston native, and asked for his assistance. His friend, Alan, was to visit the the Dickenson Inn, and spin a simple tale to the front desk clerk, in order to get into Liz and Tom's room. Alan immediately came up with the perfect story. He'd say that the couple, both his close friends, were arriving soon to celebrate their anniversary, and he wanted to surprise them without intruding on their time together. Would they please let him into the room for a moment, just so he could leave them a gift and scatter some rose petals? He'd point to a gift bag in one hand. It would mean so, so much to them, of course.

Alan's persuasive skills are top notch. He could literally charm the pants off of anyone. Compulsively, he seldom resisted the urge to do so.

Once inside, he'd hastily bug the room, ditch the gift bag, and then leave quietly. If Liz ever left Tom alone in there, Red would know if he did anything shady during her absence. His next task was to bug every pay phone within a five mile radius of the Inn. If Tom made any attempt to touch base with either his girlfriend or his employer, Red would catch it. Last but not least, Alan was to hire his best local PI's to tail Tom's every move in the city, and photograph any suspicious activity.

Unfortunately, these methods came without any guarantees. After Tom's recent run-in with the feds, he'd be wise to lay low on the trip. On the other hand, perhaps he'll be a little out of control, irrational, paranoid, and reactionary. He may be scrambling for a foothold. Therein lied Red's opportunity to wait and to watch. With one little slip, Red would be perfectly poised to expose and exploit it. Just to be on the safe side, however, while they were gone, he'd use the opportunity to bug their home as well, along with every payphone in the surrounding area. Lucky for him, the damn things are so few and far in between that it should be a quick and easy setup for his guys.

Red was disappointed that it had come to this. He didn't want to spy on Liz. He didn't want to bug her home or have her tailed. Nabbing Gina should have been enough, but since it wasn't, he could find no better recourse. The due date of Liz and Tom's baby was drawing nearer every day, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Just the same, he didn't plan on personally viewing any non-incriminating footage. Just the thought of accidentally watching them have s-UGH, no, absolutely not.

Red shook his head ruefully. He was indeed desperate.

-...-...-

On the afternoon of their arrival in Boston, Alan phoned Red to confirm that he had no trouble getting into the room and placing the bugs. He got lucky in one regard. They traveled by plane, so he didn't have to worry about bugging their car, or the possibility that Tom would drive to a more distant payphone.

Didn't Liz ever wonder how they were able to afford so many of the nice things that they had, like the huge brownstone, the Mercedes Benz, and the plane tickets for every random "teaching convention" or "job interview" that Tom attended? The stacks of cash in the go box should have clued her in somehow, if nothing else. No doubt he also had an offshore account, probably in the Caymans, like every other anonymous American crook with a couple million to hide.

Shortly after Alan called, Red received troubling news from a member of his tech team at Lizzie's house. The place had already been bugged! But by whom? Was it Tom himself, or the people he reported to? Was it the still-nameless and faceless adversary that had been plaguing Red's own business for years? Whoever it was, they now knew that they'd been caught by someone, but fortunately, Red's men were wise enough to wear ski masks on the job, and to call him from outside of the house. After assuring Red that the original buggers would be unable to identify the new ones, he gave them the green light to proceed, with the caveat that they be ready to remove the devices at any given time. The man just laughed. Wasn't that already a given?

Well yes, of course it was. He's Raymond Reddington, after all.

-...-...-

On their first night in Boston, one of Alan's tails called Red directly, both using burner phones. He had little to say about the couple's first night. They only left the room once, to go out for dinner, and their only time apart was while they each showered. Red couldn't help cracking a quick smile at that. Separate showers while on vacation? Who does that? Obviously, Tom was nuts.

What the tail didn't catch, however, would soon prove to be of far greater value.

When Tom and Liz returned from dinner, the desk clerk greeted them cheerfully in the lobby. "Happy Anniversary! I hope you all liked that present!"

Liz shook her head, smiling, "Sorry, it isn't our anniversary. You must have us confused for someone else."

The clerk knew for a fact that she was correct. They were the only couple that had checked in that day. Not wanting to invite any more tension, however, she feigned embarrassment. "Oh, I guess I must have. My apologies."

Liz smiled with polite reassurance. "Hey, it happens. No big deal."

Tom placed a hand on the small of her back, gently leading her away from the lobby. His mind was tangled in suspicion. Someone had lied to get into their room. What did they do, bug it? Discreetly poison something? He couldn't be sure. Something fishy was afoot.

Very.

He tried to think of a reason to switch rooms without tripping his wife's radar, but ultimately concluded that if something shady was going down, then it was already in motion. If so, his best defence would be plausible deniability. Requesting a new room would make him look suspicious, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He did his very best to pretend that he had shrugged off the clerk's mistake, just as Liz did. If it turned out to be another attempt by Red to out him, then the timing couldn't have been worse. Tom still hadn't replaced the phony documents of his go box, and effective escape would be dubious without the passports.

-...-...-

The following morning, Tom woke up early and told Liz that since she had been working so hard lately, she deserved the chance to sleep in, so he wanted to bring her breakfast in bed. Wasn't he a wonderful husband? He promised not to take too long, and Liz hardly stirred, mumbling something about loving him and being thankful. Hastily, he donned a Red Sox cap and slipped away through the inn's back door, unaware of the tail that followed at a safe distance.

Tom's first stop was the nearest payphone. Lifting the receiver, and before inserting the coins, he quickly looked all around him, in the habitual manner of every common crook. Popping out from behind a brick wall, the tail snapped several photos, still unseen. Tom's conversation was wirelessly transmitted to Red's team in DC.

"Bantam Finance. How may I direct your call?" a brusque-sounding woman answered.

"I'm having a little trouble with my account, number delta sierra four five one," Tom replied, an edge in his voice.

"Line is secure. Proceed."

"Washboard is compromised. Bonafide's in question. Tell Berlin I was forced to liquidate."

Tom was obviously speaking in code, and little could be gleamed from the immediate surface, but it was still a sizable puzzle piece. Something had spooked him enough that he had to reach out to a member of his team, someone using the alias "Berlin". Bantam Finance could only be a cover for his employer's secured phone line.

After the call, Tom walked another block to a cafe called Au Bon Pain. To the hundred or so people who passed, it probably looked like he was only there to grab breakfast, but the tail knew better. Boldly, he followed him into the line at the register, and ordered a coffee and croissant for himself. He watched as Tom exited, carry-out bag in hand, and sat down at one of the sidewalk tables, casually sipping his coffee, and definately waiting for someone. The tail grabbed a newspaper and sat near enough to record any sort of conversation. Meanwhile, on the other side of the street, another tail kept watch and snapped a steady stream of photos.

Within minutes, a guy on a bicycle zoomed by, and as if by accident, dropped a manilla envelope marked only with a black, Rorschach-looking blob. Like any good person would, Tom bounced up from his seat and grabbed it, shouting, "Excuse me, sir! Come back! You've dropped something!"

Well played, Mr. Keen.

The biker kept going, of course, because it was no accident. The tail across the street alerted another, the next the block over, to follow him.

The tail at the table, acting like any casually helpful stranger, addressed Tom. "Maybe you should leave it there. As soon as he realizes what happened, he'll probably retrace his steps to find it."

Tom pretended to consider the suggestion, and then replied, "But somebody else might find it first."

"Ah... good point. Maybe you could give it to the cashier?"

Again, Tom politely pretended to consider, and then replied, "But then how would she give it to him? I mean, she's been inside this whole time, and since he never went in, he won't go in there to look for it."

"No, I suppose he wouldn't. This is tough! I feel bad for the guy..." He paused, pretending to think of the reply that was already perched on the tip of his tongue. "Well hey, you can leave it with me, if you'd like. It's my day off. I don't mind waiting for him to come back, and someone's gotta be waiting for their meal." He pointed to Tom's take-out bag.

His eyes narrowed, suspicious of the stranger's motives. Was he just trying to be a good samaritan, or was he trying to intercept the envelope? Either way, Tom couldn't let on that he was suspicious. "Wow... That's very generous of you, but I think... well, I just got another idea. That server was out here when he dropped it." He pointed to a blonde woman inside. "I bet she'd recognize him if he came back."

The tail grinned and gave him a thumbs up. "Perfect! That's a great idea."

"Well, thanks for trying to help," Tom congenially offered, standing up to go inside.

"Sure. Take care." He casually flipped through the pages of his newspaper, as if in search of the sports section.

"You too."

Inside, Tom followed the server to the back of the restaurant, facing away from the street, and asked if she would direct him towards the restroom. He covertly slipped the envelope under his jacket, and then turned back to leave.

As he passed, like an afterthought, Tom thanked the tail once more.

He looked up from his newspaper, jumping intentionally as if startled, giving the impression that he wasn't watching his ruse inside the cafe. "Always happy to help."

Satisfied that it was nothing to worry about, Tom briskly headed back to the Inn, followed by the other tail from across the street. He glanced at his watch. He'd only been gone for about thirty minutes. As he walked, he opened the envelope and reached inside to grab its contents-a key. He slipped it into his coat pocket and tossed the envelope into a sidewalk trashcan. Seconds later, the tail grabbed the envelope and tucked it into his own pocket.

Back at the cafe, the first tail approached the server, seeking audio proof that Tom never gave her the envelope. "Excuse me, miss. Did you just see a man carrying a manilla envelope? Is he still here?"

"Why yes, I did, and he was weird too. He wanted to know where our restroom is, but then instead of using it, he just turned around and left."

"False alarm, I guess?" The tail replied, laughing.

-...-...-

After the incident at the cafe, the tail that followed the man on the bicycle phoned Red, informing him of everything that had just transpired. Red instructed him to stay on the man. He and Dembe were on their way.

The flight from DC to Boston only took an hour, and the bicyclist hadn't left his location in the interim. Looking at the photos snapped by the tail, Red didn't recognize the younger man. He and Dembe had no trouble breaking into what appeared to be his own apartment, knocking him out and hog-tying him before Red's interrogator arrived, towing an O2 tank for his COPD.

Knowing that his curmudgeonly interrogator preferred to work alone, Red and Dembe slipped out to give him some privacy, offering to return with lunch, in case the subdued man proved tough to crack.

They then met up with another member of Alan's team, already awaiting their arrival. He gave them the envelope, along with all of the photos, the audio recording from the cafe, and the clip from the feed inside of the inn, showing Tom's offer to bring Lizzie her breakfast in bed. Red already had the wirelessly-transmitted recording from the payphone.

Oh, it was good. It was so, so good. If the interrogator could get anything from the bicyclist, it would be great. Red was very pleased. None of it directly tied Tom to the hit on Fokin, but it was shady enough to look very, very bad. The marking on the envelope was clearly meant to mimic the shape of the scar on Lizzie's wrist. More importantly, it matched the mark on Tom and Gina's go boxes. No blinders could be thick enough for her to deny that.

When Red and Dembe returned with lunch, the interrogator greeted them at the door, panting. "You got my reuben?" he asked.

Red held up the carry-out bag.

"Okay, good. This guy? He's tough."

"But you're tougher," Red replied, shaking his head and grinning.

"You're goddamn right I am. This pinko hippie's gonna crack, but it might take another day or two. Come back with dinner. Kung pao chicken, if you don't mind."

"You know, your palate is almost as impressively varied as your technique," Red smoothly complimented.

"Oh yes, I know." He replied, snatching the bag from Red's hand and unceremoniously shutting the door in his face.

As they headed out, Dembe flashed a smile and quipped, "I have a feeling we'll have to call Mr. Kaplan after he's finished in there."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: This chapter concludes my alternate ending story for Morgan. FINALLY, THE LIZZINGTON MAGIC. Expect even more verbatim quotes with alternate context. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to Morgan, and thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!

I still own the rights to nothing, sadly.

-...-...-...-

**Chapter Three**

Red's interrogator was correct in his estimation that it would take awhile to crack the bicyclist. By the time he was finished, Liz and Tom had already returned to Virginia. Red intended to drop the evidence on Liz's desk, so it would be the very first thing she saw when she arrived at the post office. She hadn't made it there yet, and if Red really rushed, he still had a chance of beating her to it.

The only product of the bicyclist's advanced interrogation was a copy of the key given to Tom, along with the number of the safe deposit box that it opened, at the Radford Bank in DC's Adams Morgan neighborhood. Red's deceptively-diminutive human lie detector was confident in the veracity of his intel, but unfortunately, even the bicyclist had no idea what the box contained.

That imposed a calculated risk onto Red's plans. In order to get the envelope to Liz on time, he wouldn't be able to inspect the box before sending her to open it. Red could only hope that the box held Tom's secrets, and not his own.

After a cursory glance at the bicyclist's bloodied body, he phoned Mr. Kaplan to take care of it. Normally, Red liked to wait for her to arrive before fleeing the scene, but this time, he was in too much of a hurry. He was affectionately apologetic, promising to catch up with her soon, but Mr. Kaplan didn't mind at all.

Enroute to DC, nestled in the butter-soft leather of his private jet, Red hand-wrote a note to Lizzie, to be included with the drop-off.

_Lizzie, I can only hope that you'll carefully inspect the contents of this envelope. The key opens safe deposit box #10815, at the Radford Bank in Adams Morgan. I have no idea what you'll find in the box, but if it's empty, you should assume that Tom has already beat you to it. _

_Whatever you do, do NOT confront him. You may want to, but it isn't safe to do it alone. All of my resources are at your disposal. Find me first. _

It took three drafts before Red got it right. Finally satisfied, he dropped it into the envelope and passed it to Dembe. After a mere handful of breaths, he already found himself anxious from waiting. "Got any edibles?" he asked his friend.

Dubious, Dembe's eyebrows arched. "Perhaps," he replied.

"That sounds like a yes to me," Red practically sang. "Tell me you've got the chocolate chip kush cookies."

"Think you'll be okay when Agent Keen arrives?"

"IF she arrives, you mean, and yes, I know my limits."

Passing his bag of goodies, Dembe added, "For the record, if you do anything stupid, remember that I warned you..."

Red took a huge bite and moaned obscenely, his eyelids fluttering as he tipped his head back. He took his sweet time, pretending not to notice Dembe's disapproving gaze. "Huh? I'm sorry. What was that? The cookiegasm erases all."

-...-...-

Liz stepped into the post office's hideous yellow elevator, wracked with dread about returning to work. She knew that everyone would expect to find her refreshed and ready to go hard, but that's never been the case for her. Coming back was the worst. Always.

As if on cue, the elevator doors opened to reveal Ressler impatiently awaiting her arrival. "Keen! Hear anything from Reddington?"

She pursed her lips and replied sarcastically, "My trip was great, Ress. Thank you for asking."

"Right, sorry. Glad to hear it went well... but about Reddington?" he huffed.

"Nope, seems I've been lucky so far. Now if you don't mind, I've got a mountain of paperwork to tackle." Without another word, she took her leave, trying to ignore Ressler's weighted gaze on her backside.

The envelope, with its mark that mimicked both the wooden box and her scar, drew Liz's attention immediately. There was no leap of logic that she'd want to be alone while she opened it. Sighing at her own trepidation, she turned around and locked the door behind her. She dumped the contents of the envelope onto her desk, and immediately started sifting through the small pile.

She was only halfway through reading the enclosed note when Ressler knocked on the door, brusquely reminding her that they had to share the space. At least they had their own desks, Liz thought.

She shouted, "Just a sec, please! I'm on the phone."

"Better make it quick, Keen."

Spurred into making haste, she speed-read the note, not exactly absorbing the gist of it. She then plugged the thumb drive into her desktop computer and opened its files, one at a time.

Confused by her findings, she went back to the letter and re-read it. "SHIT," she cursed aloud, frustrated that there wasn't enough time to inspect the huge stack of photos. Liz needed to leave immediately, racing against both time and Tom.

"The hell, Keen?!" Ressler called out after her as she unlocked the door and rushed past.

"Red wants to meet up. I'll be back." she replied, over her shoulder.

-...-...-

At the bank, Liz spied Red and Dembe in a nearby parked car. She willed herself to calmly approach them, doing her very best to mask her pain. Red rolled down his window and greeted her. "Lizzie, I'm glad that you've decided to confront the situation."

"Has he been here yet?" She ALL business, goddamnit.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Would you like to go in alone, or should I accompany you?"

Liz narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw, suspicious of the offer. "I'm fine, thanks. If you'd like to come in, then hurry up, because I'm going right now." She turned on her heel and started to walk away briskly.

"Dembe, I'll be right back. Stay on the lookout for Tom, please."

Meeting Red's eyes through the rear view mirror, he nodded.

Red caught up with her just before she stepped into the bank. As they waited in line for the teller, Lizzie pulled out the photos and started flipping through them. "Do you really not know what's in this thing? Have you made room for the possibility that this isn't how it looks?"

"No, I really don't know what's in it," he replied, "and don't be so daft. I make room for all possibilities, always. You know that."

Pausing on the first photo of the bicyclist, Liz's jaw suddenly dropped. Thoroughly shocked, she shook her head and asked, "Do you know this man?"

"Beyond the fact that he obviously works with Tom's people, no, I do not."

"It's Craig!"

"I'm sure that you think you've just offered an explanation, but you haven't."

"He's Tom's brother."

"More likely, that's only a role that he's playing..." Red trailed off, and something clicked in his head. "But uh, for your safety, I need to tell you something that I had planned on keeping to myself."

Liz's eyes searched his face for clues about what he might say next.

"Craig died during the interrogation. I don't know how exactly, as I wasn't present, but long story short, it took two days to get a copy of the key that was given to Tom, and he didn't survive. I should know more after Mr. Kaplan is done with him."

At the front of the line, upon the teller's greeting, they dropped the conversation. After she lead them to the box and exited the room, Red continued his train of thought. "If he hasn't gotten it already, then when Tom gets the news, he may assume that you've made him. God only knows how he'll react to that."

Liz turned the key and opened the tiny door, reaching inside for yet another blob-adorned manilla folder. She opened it and found several brand-new passports, all with different photos and aliases of her husband. "Goddamnit!" she growled, and then punched the stainless steel-covered wall of safe deposit boxes. Clutching her throbbing fist, she paced the room.

Red's reaction was delayed, but without asking, he gently encircled her wrist and held her hand up to closely assess the damage. Boldly, he kissed a line across her knuckles, and glanced up to see her eyes watering and her bottom lip quivering, on the brink of a full-blown meltdown. "Come on, let's get out of here. Leave the stuff in the box. If Tom arrives and finds it empty, he'll know for sure that you've made him."

Liz nodded glumly, not trusting herself to speak without embarrassing herself.

"Your keys?" Red asked, holding out his hand.

She dropped the safe deposit box key into his palm.

"Sorry, I meant your car keys. I'd prefer that you not drive in this state. I'll drive to Hempstead's, and Dembe will follow us with your car."

Passing Red her car keys, it occurred to Liz that she ordinarily wouldn't agree to that, but she simply didn't have the energy to protest.

-...-...-...-

They drove in silence, with Liz flipping through the photographs the entire time. In Hempstead's living room, she found her voice, and she had

So

Much

To

Say.

Liz paced the room as she ranted. "Did you know that we had sex last night? Do you have any idea how filthy that makes me feel?"

Red's heavy-lidded eyes tracked her movement. "Unfortunately Lizzie, you're chest-deep in filth, and you're gonna have to wade through it to get to the other side. Your husband never existed. From an emotional point of view, this must feel like an extraordinary violation of betrayal, but for Tom, it was business."

"You don't know what I feel," Liz spat.

"Maybe not," he conceded, "but few understand loss as well as I. I've been intimately acquainted with the feeling for longer than I've even had a word to describe it."

She shook her head. "I fell in love with him. I married him. We were gonna have-I was excited to have a child with him. He was the ONE person I chose in my life who made me happy, who made me feel safe. What does that say about me? Everything we had was just a figment of my imagination. Worse than a figment, a lie! It was right in front of my face, and I didn't see it. I just believed it, ALL OF IT."

Red patiently listened to every word. He'd let her talk all night if he had to. She deserved at least that much. "Time is the only thing that will allow you to find yourself again," he softly offered.

Liz's brow furrowed as she continued to pace, but now in silence. It looked as if she was trying to decide what to do next. After several long minutes, she asked, "How is this all gonna end?"

"This is an end, and then something new will begin." He clasped his hands, fighting the powerful urge to launch himself at her and drag her to the couch to sit beside him.

Her shoulders slumped. It appeared as if both her body and spirit were crumbling in front of him. Still, she paced, so Red continued, "You deserve the best in life, Lizzie. I know that sounds odd coming from a man who has brought you some of the worst, but... it's the reason why Tom had to work so hard to be that for you. To be kind. To be thoughtful. To make you laugh. To make you love him. Because you deserve that."

Liz stopped in her tracks, gazing at him helplessly. She closed her eyes and blindly made her way to the other end of the couch, collapsing onto it and burying her face in her hands.

"And it will come."

Choking back a sob, she lifted her hands but refused to meet Red's gaze. "I know what I want to do."

Red nodded, waiting, knowing that she caught the movement from the corner of her eye.

"My first instinct is to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him, but I think... I think we should put him on the blacklist, and bring him in, but first... I might be able to get more out of him, if we put it off for awhile. As long as he thinks I'm still in the dark, we can build a bigger case against him."

"But what if he already knows?"

Her back stiffened with resolve, and she finally met his eyes. "Then I'll have to kill him, and we'll call Kaplan."

Red nodded, carefully considering her idea. It was risky, and he didn't like it, but with her house bugged, he was adequately equipped to keep an eye on her. He would have to tell her eventually, but now wasn't the time.

As if she already knew what he would say, Liz drew in a deep breath and pursed her lips, readying herself to go to battle for her choice.

Red sighed. "Lizzie... this goes against my better judgem-"

She cut him off, "Goddamnit Red, if you t-"

He lifted a hand and interrupted her in kind, "Let me finish, please. Your plan goes against my better judgement, because of the risk involved, but I'm proud of you, Lizzie. I'll give you whatever help you need."

Surprised, the corners of her lips twitched and lifted into a slight smile. "Okay. Thank you." Her gaze wandered to a wooden box on the coffee table. "What is that?"

Red returned her smile. He was beginning to think that she'd never ask. "It's a 1940s sorrento music box." He lifted the lid, triggering the music to play.

Wanting a better look, Liz scooted closer to him. She paused, listening. "I know this song... When I was a little girl, I had these terrible nightmares. I remember flashes of fire and smoke..." Her eyes welled up with fresh tears, flitting back and forth between Red's face and the box. "God, so much smoke... My dad would lay in bed with me, and hold me in his arms, and hum that song... He'd tell me I was safe, that everything was gonna be okay."

Her eyes widened with recognition, coming to a full stop on his face. "This is what you were working on last week. You spent days building that damn thing." She shook her head incredulously. "You knew about the song, my father... You knew I'd find out the truth, and you wanted me..."

Unable to watch her lips trembling for another second, Red closed his eyes and opened his arms in invitation. Without deliberation, Liz leaned in and collapsed against him, melting under his touch. He breathed in the scent of her shampoo, and kissed the top of her head. "To know that everything is going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

Liz untangled herself from his arms, and cupped his cheeks with both hands, pulling Red's lips to hers in a kiss that started off slow and gentle, but soon evolved into a passionate, long-awaited dance of frenzy. Pulling back and gasping for breath, she rested her forehead against his, looking deeply into his eyes.

Having found strength within their combined resolve, Liz replied, "Yes. We will be."

-...-...-

"Being loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone gives you courage." -Lao Tzu


End file.
